Night and Daybreak
by ShivaVixen
Summary: OC story. 2 chapters. No matter how far or dark the path, one can always find light at the end of it. For one elf-maiden, this certainly proves true. Not a mary-sue, I promise!
1. Night

AN: See end of chapter for note and disclaimer.

**Night Journey**

**Sunset**

King Thranduil stared at the two traitorous elves, the dark haired female had her head bowed, showing some remorse, the light haired male was glaring, back straight and head lifted high. He felt sick, having to pronounce a sentence that should not have been used a thousand years after the Dark Lord's fall. His son, just over a thousand years old, watched in curiosity.

"Your crimes are horrific, but I will not give you death. That would be for a darker time." The female lifted her head a fraction. "But dark were your deeds, and dark are your hearts- Dark Elves." Neither flinched at the term. "You will be marked as such, and exiled- should any elf or elf-friend come upon you, they will know what you are and will have full permission to kill you." Two healers, though they hid their faces, came forward to put the mark on them. Thranduil halted them a moment. "Do you have anything you wish to say?"

"I hope you rot." The male's peculiar gray-green eyes flashed. "You say we are the monsters- fine, but you are the real ones. Cowards, you did not fight!"

"And you, she-elf?" The woman lifted her head, and met his gaze.

"I will not abandon my husband, no matter where the path may lead, or how painful it gets. I have nothing to say to you, Elf King."

Both didn't even flinch when the mark was applied, a circle with an arrowhead point down in the center. It was rather simplistic, but the ink was dark and it showed up clearly.

"What do they know of Darkness, the cowards . . . they did not fight, and they just left!" Blue eyes flashed as he spoke with his wife. They had wandered far from Mirkwood.

"I know. I know." The wife sighed, hand straying to her stomach.

"Are you still not well?"

"I . . . I think I might be pregnant." She glanced down. Her child would be born in exile; she would not be able to have any healer to help her.

Things became much darker, especially her husband, once the baby was born.

"What will we name her?" The Wife glanced up at her husband, his expression calculating. The firstborn elf child to any family was named by the father; the rest could be named by the mother. "Husband?"

"I won't name her."

"What?"

"She won't have a name, she's a dark elf, and she will not need one."

"She's a child! She needs a name. You cannot plan to- husband, she won't stand a chance!" His wife tried to stand up, take the child back. "She doesn't have to carry our shame; we could take her and leave her with another family- they would not object to raising her."

"We're Dark elves, she is already so strong, and she'll survive this life with no aid."

"Husband . . ." with a sigh she bowed her head. "As you wish, then, the child won't be named."

Not long after, her husband forbade her to speak to the child in elvish. As that was the only language the wife knew, she remained silent, watching as her baby girl followed, large grayish-green eyes curious. The family wandered some more, and the wife grew increasingly concerned about her husband's temper and plans. One evening though, was the breaking point.

"We're leaving her here." He scowled at his wife's horror. "She can grow on her own."

"Have you taken leave of your senses? She is a child; she cannot survive on her own!"

"Do not question me!"

**Twilight**

When the child woke up, her parents were gone. She did not understand why, nor could she ask. All she found were four elfish knives, one with blood on the blade. She picked that one up and wiped it off, before gathering them into the sheaths and then into her arms. With no sense of direction, or understanding of where to go, she started walking.

The hill men of Rohan were not lacking in intelligence, even if their language and living conditions seemed that way. When a young hunter came back with a girl with pointy ears and a mark on her head, they understood that she was lost and from a different race. However, even when they spoke common, the girl did not seem to understand them. The hunter's wife, settled matters by taking the child in. They named the girl 'Calwyn' or 'Lost maiden'.

Calwyn learned both the language of the hill people's language and what little of the common language they knew with ease. What she was startled to realize, though, was that around her everyone else was changing rapidly, but she remained mostly the same. Her brothers and sisters, born after she was found, grew up quicker than she did, and she did not understand why.

When they laid her foster parents to rest- old and gray and withered- Calwyn couldn't bear to stay anymore, she could not watch as her siblings aged. She had carried the knives on her back since her Foster father created leather straps that would hold them to her, so she ran. She made it to a stream and for the first time actually studied her reflection. In all the time spent with them, she looked like she had barely aged a year! She broke down sobbing, realizing that somehow, she would not age as her family did- she would still be young when her brothers and sisters died!

"Calwyn, why do you cry?" The Shaman stood behind her. "Your parents are at rest."

"I cry because I don't age right! I am still young, but my brothers have taken wives! Harkun expects his firstborn and I . . . I'm still a child!"

" . . . Come with me, if you cannot bear to return to the village . . . there is someone who may help you." Calwyn got up to follow the shaman, but her tears still fell.

The 'someone' turned out to be a talking tree! "Stonebark, my friend, how are your flocks?"

"Well enough, Shaman!" Lost thought the creature looked like an oak. "But who is this?"

"We call her Calwyn, but her true name is unknown, she does not age as our people, and is deeply grieved by the loss of the parents that took her in. Would you help her?"

"Barrum! Of course, the little elfling is welcome to stay, I shall teach her much." And he did, he taught her elfish and several other languages he knew, as well as how to talk to trees and plants. The hillmen, despite her never aging, had taught her to track and hunt. Stonebark did not call her 'Calwyn' though. He usually called her 'Sapling'. ("Names, Sapling, are words that define the bearer, I do not think of you as a 'Lost maiden' anymore, but a sapling, needing tending and care to grow strong. Perhaps someday you will find a name that truly defines you.") He tried to teach her the language of the ents, but she could only master 'Hello'. He laughed when she told him that their language took too long if there was an emergency.

Stonebark taught her lore and songs, but he could not tell her what her marked forehead meant. He had never seen the like before. She grew up in his care, finally reaching a point where she looked old enough to travel alone. Stonebark never told her where or how he got clothes for her, though she highly doubted the old ent stole them. They were in the style of the hillmen, and she had no problem wearing them.

"I almost don't want to leave." She glanced up at Stonebark. "The world is so vast . . . and I'd feel so alone."

"It is time for you to leave the nest, sapling. I dwell apart from my brethren because I chose solitude. You may find answers to those questions of yours, out there in the world." She bowed her head.

"Farewell, then, Stonebark. I hope to visit when I do have answers. I would like to tell them to you."

"Please do, Sapling, and I will make sure there is ent-draught enough!"

**Night**

The Nameless elf wiped the blood of the blades and scowled at the human. She was paid for assassination, but she had no problem taking the money of her victims, either.

She slipped into the tavern, ignoring the drunks and slipping into a corner booth. A man soon joined her.

"How was it, Whisper?" She absently scowled at the name. Just because she did not see the need for talking so the world could hear . . .

"As well as could be expected. Being a mercenary for hire sure doesn't pay as much as stealing, though."

"Like that would stop you!" He laughed, and she could feel her annoyance with this man rising. She had killed several men in the last mercenary group she had joined- the leader hadn't minded too much, but recommended she find a new group.

She lay on the cot- which had seen better days- and stared at the ceiling. Stonebark and her foster parents would not have approved this life of killing and stealing, but they weren't here. Getting an honest job had been trouble, Elves were strange to common men, and one with a marked forehead apparently made them cautious- no one had hired her, and so she turned to her natural stealth to start stealing coins for food and supplies. Assassinations came when she had tried to steal from a mercenary. He had been amused, and had taken her under wing to learn how to fight and kill.

What she was doing was wrong, she knew, but she no longer cared. It was just a matter of doing anything to survive.

**Moonrise**

She almost wanted to laugh at the 'cell' she was given by the guards of Minas Ithil. There were bars on the window, yes, but there was a bed and a nightstand. "Are all prisoners treated with such luxury?"

"No . . . the dungeon has been deemed in need of repairs . . ." The young guard that had caught and escorted her looked completely out of his depth. His captain sighed.

"I don't know who you are, lass, but this is the first I've seen of an elf stealing." The elf-maid just sat on the bed.

"Glad to know I'm unique." She glanced out the window at the trees.

"What's your name, and why do you have that mark on your head?"

"You tell me- I don't have a name, and the mark has been on my head since childhood."

"You don't have a name?" The young guard's eyes widened. She almost wanted to laugh. She had spent several hundred years as a thief and killer, that sort of innocence that the guard displayed was something any cutthroat would prey on.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you like, I don't have a name, people have called me lots of things, so you can call me whatever you want . . . a name is not important to me." She glanced out the window again, before looking back at the captain. "I was under the impression that this tower was more heavily guarded, though."

"It is guarded well enough."

She found out soon enough what they decided to call her, and she wished she had suggested a name. 'Bein' indeed! Did they miss the part where she was a thief and a killer? She answered to it, though. Several months passed, and she found herself actually enjoying the time spent with the guards. The peaceful time of incarceration, though, was only temporary.

"Can you track, Lass?"

"What?" She glanced up at the captain. He never called her Bein, just Lass. (She kind of preferred that to the other.) He looked haggard and she had a feeling something bad had happened.

"Can you track?" He repeated.

"Yes, I can, what's happened?" She followed him, curious, and was surprised when he passed her knives to her.

"Patrol was ambushed, Orcs, our other tracker is sick from an infected wound."

For the elf maid, it was a turning point. The orcs traveled quickly, and had retreated into Mordor. None of the men hesitated to follow her as she led them- and she somehow found the courage to do so. With the mercenary and bandit groups she had traveled with, she had never been comfortable with leading as they could stab her in the back, but this group was different, and so was the purpose.

"Everyone accounted for?" Some orcs had split from the group- going further in. The men looked ill, and even though the dark lord existed no more, the land was still a poisonous wasteland. Some of the wise doubted that stain would ever heal.

"Byroc was taken . . . they were laughing at how elf like he looked and wanted to have fun." For the first time, she paused, her heart beating strangely. Byroc was the young guard that not only caught her, but also always took time to talk to her, he said he had some elfish blood in his veins, and he was rather good looking. He was also innocent, despite being a warrior.

She wasn't going to let the orcs have their fun with him, and her heart seemed to beat stronger. "Then whoever is brave enough, come with me, I will not let Orcs play with him."

"You need not go that far."

"Yes, I do. It has been a long time since I had a friend," Was that what Byroc was to her? They had spent so much time talking- whenever he was off-duty he would come to talk with her- so he must be a friend, "and I would not see any friend of mine die while I can still do something about it!" But as she lead the way (with only half of the party, the rest had to take the injured to Minas Ithil for care) in the back of her mind she wondered if perhaps she had lost her senses. They were her jailers, and she was helping them. Yes, they were kind and treated her with honor, but that was not much. The thoughts were pushed to the wayside as she focused on tracking the orcs through the wasteland. They gained on the orcs quickly, and finally caught up to them.

'Bein' and the Captain slipped forward, scouting the orc camp. The orcs were all asleep except for a handful of sentries that were swaying on their feet- they'd been drinking, probably celebrating the 'success'. 'Bein' barely stopped from hissing as she spotted the missing guard. Byroc had been tied to a rocky overhang, arms stretched over his head. 'Bein' scowled as she realized more Orcs had joined the party, and the human had definitely been beaten and he was hanging awkwardly in ropes. The Captain's hand on her arm brought her attention back to the man. She ignored the concern in his eyes and forced herself to focus.

"I can get him out, but you might want to have your archers ready in case they wake and spot us." The Captain studied her a moment, then nodded.

"Alright, lass, be careful." 'Bein' slipped into the shadows, ignoring the oily feeling that seemed to permeate the air around her. One careless orc sentry was dead in an instant.

"Byroc." The man started, and she quickly put a hand to his mouth. "Take it easy, it's me, Bien, I'm going to get you out of here." She pulled her hand away so she could get him out.

"Bein, no, if they catch you-" Something in his eyes and the concern in his voice made her heart flutter in her chest. It was a strange sensation, and she didn't really like it so she pushed it away.

"Then the archers get some target practice. Relax, will you? This might not be the most charming place, but no one in their right mind would leave a comrade to die here." 'Bein' had to keep him from falling when she got the ropes undone. One of his arms hung awkwardly, and she had to cover his mouth to keep him from alerting the orcs. "Eru, I am going to kill them." She glared at the slumbering orcs. She quickly set Byroc down in the shadows, before grabbing the slain sentry and tying him up in the human's place. "C'mon, let's get you out of here." Byroc had to lean heavily on her, but they managed to get out of the orc camp with surprising ease.

"They were drinking, I don't know what, but it must've been pretty strong." Byroc murmured when he saw her look over her shoulder again. The Ithil guards quickly took his weight.

Getting back out of Mordor took a bit more work, the way they had come in had suffered a rockslide and could no longer be used. After a few days, they found a maze of tunnels- what they would later call Cirith Ungol- and a very large, very hungry spider. Thankfully, the orcs had pursued them, and the spider chose attack the orcs and not the humans and elf-maid. Once they were out of Mordor and in the forests of Ithilien, the entire rescue party all but collapsed.

Mordor was still an evil land, and the stay- however brief- had grated on everyone's spirits.

"Thank you for your help, Lass, You're free to go, if you wish." 'Bein' looked up at the captain, confused. "We certainly couldn't stop you if you chose to run." It was sort of funny, but she hadn't even thought about running, the idea actually never occurred to her.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay for a while longer." And she did, 'Bein' stayed with them for quite a while, and eventually the men began calling her Ithilriel, because she always took the night watch. For the first time in a long time, she had a place she could call home.

"Ithilriel, wait up!" She smiled as Byroc joined her on her way to the mess. "Did you hear? Reagar tripped in the armory again."

"_Again_? How does he manage that when the floors are smoothed over so you can't trip?" Byroc just shook his head, and held open the door for her.

"I imagine it's the same way that I have the misfortune of being 'Orc Bait'." Byroc gave a wry smile. "Someone apparently has it out for me, everytime I go on patrol I wind up running into orcs."

"Well, it could be worse." 'Ithilriel' gave a sly smile.

"Oh, and how?"

"You could attract dragons." She dodged the mock lunge and took off laughing, getting lunch temporarily forgotten as her friend chased her. The captain just shook his head as they went by.

Everyone noticed that there was something between Byroc and the elf maid, but no one ever commented on it. Where one went, there was the other. The elf almost forgot she was not mortal.

But the mortality of her comrades was not in dispute. 'Ithilriel' was painfully aware of that fact when Byroc, now a captain, was dying from an infected arrow wound that the healers of the tower couldn't heal. She wanted to run away, but she stayed with Byroc until he died, her wail of grief when he stopped living was the only notice the men needed. She did not attend the funeral; she could not watch her dear friend be burned on a pyre- and know that she could not stop the flames and bring her friend back to life.

"Is it true Elves can die from grief?" The former Captain, now a commander, studied her. They were standing on a balcony, watching the sunset.

"I do not know- I was not raised by elves, but by men and an Ent." The Commander nodded, believing her. "But, Mamek . . . she died a day after Papeg did, and I have heard of even dwarves that have died from grief and heartbreak, so I imagine that elves could." She bowed her head. He went silent, looking out at the sky. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, seeing the lines on his face that had deepened, gray that was starting to thread his hair. It was so much like her beloved foster-father. She closed her eyes. "I won't die from the grief, Commander, but I can't stay here, not anymore."

"Don't let my looks fool you, Lass, I've got several years left."

"And I have immortality. I'll still be here, young as ever, long after even Tolan has been buried." Tolan was the two year-old child of Reagar. 'Ithilriel' bowed her head, unable to imagine seeing the vibrant child growing gray. "I can't . . . stay and watch as the years slowly kill you. If I don't leave soon . . . I will die."

"We won't hold you then, Lass. Be careful." She was gone without a word the next day. Some of the men held out hope that their Ithilriel would return, even though they knew she would not be able to face their mortality.

**Moonset**

She had avoided mortal company for years, unable to face any man. She waited a long time, until she knew that none of her comrades that she had grown to love as friends still lived. When that period of grief was over, she returned to stealing occasionally, but she couldn't kill any mortal in cold blood, could not return to being an assassin or bandit. So she wandered alone. She wasn't sure what to do with herself, until she ran up against a small party of orcs that had strayed too far.

Soon enough, whispers and rumors of an Orc hunter began to dot the countryside.

For some, her focus on hunting orcs would seem like revenge for the death of Byroc, but she never thought of that as the reason she hunted them. She just felt the need to hunt and fight more keenly than anyone. So if she hunted orcs that were too close to villages and travelers she wasn't doing it for revenge- she was doing it to protect them from loss. Hunting buried her grief, and over time she began to deal with it, but she never truly got over the loss. She learned much about orcs and goblins and other dark creatures while she hunted them, and some of her information she gave to village leaders so they could defend themselves better.

There was a downside to her new life, before when she had been a bandit and assassin, not only did she travel in groups of men; she could also spend more time in inns, getting more meals and more sleep. Now she was pushing her limits- she had known she could go long periods without much food or rest as an elf- and finding out how much damage her body could take when she got into trouble. An orc whip had caught her on the cheek, leaving scars that never fully healed.

Well, she thought that 'Orc Hunter' was a much better name than 'Bein', anyway.

**Grey Dawn**

The nameless elf-maid coughed blood, and pulled herself out of the stream, an orc arrow stuck in her shoulder. "Well, lass, you sure know how to pick the best ways to almost die . . ." A twinge in her leg made her glance down. She had an arrow in her calf, too. "Oh, Commander would have a holiday if he saw me now." Neither arrow had gone too deep, but her personal concern was poison rather than bleeding out. With a sigh, she began the painful task of pulling the arrows out and doing her best to patch herself up. It was almost fifteen hundred years since she was found by the hill people. She'd wandered far, listening to stories in inns, hearing the changes that had swept through the lands she traveled.

Things had changed, though hunting orcs was still rather fun (and occasionally life threatening). She leaned back against a tree, too tired to try and climb it. The orcs were all dead, so she didn't need to bother anyway- a spasm in her shoulder and the faint sensation of burning made her curse. She was learning quite a bit of orcish on this never-ending hunt of hers. Hopefully the poison would not be too bad. Sighing, she rubbed the never-fading mark on her forehead. She really needed to look into covering it up more often, she'd nearly gotten killed by a group of elves a few years prior, and the orcs had started to equate it with her killing them.

Elves might heal quicker than mortals, but it still took a while. She struggled to her feet, reluctantly moving. She'd need shelter and not an open clearing to wait out the poison. The trees spoke of a cave, but they did not think she would get that far. They instead pointed her to a small grove, offering their protection. Thanking them, she made it into the grove before collapsing, her shoulder and leg throbbing with pain.

No matter how long she lived, she seemed destined to botch up healing, especially on herself . . . she really needed to find a healer or someone that could deal with poisoned wounds; her knowledge only went so far as to know that some herbs could draw out poison, if she could remember which ones they even were . . . a black void swallowed her up, and she welcomed it.

"She's hurt!"

"Quick, get Granny Goody!" Voices, high-pitched ones, sounded like children. She couldn't get her eyes to open, she was in so much pain . . . "Granny Goody, there's a hurt elf!" More babbling voices, blurring together. She hovered between waking and returning to the nice pain-free void . . . then slipped back into unconsciousness.

When she finally came aware and awake, she was staring at a ceiling. It was rather quaint looking, and the elf-maid blinked at it, trying to figure it out.

"So, you've finally woken. You had poisoned wounds and an infection." She blinked at the woman who stood over her, but it took a moment to realize that the woman couldn't have been more than three feet tall!

"Where am I?" There were several questions in her head, but right now the only one she could voice was that one.

"You're with the Riverfolk. We don't like trouble and we fish for a living. What sort of trouble did you get into?"

"Yrchs- Orcs." She corrected, noting the woman's confusion. "I'm afraid they didn't take to kindly to realizing there was an elf not too far from their camp . . . but your people should be safe enough- they probably think I'm dead." _And I killed every last one of that band- I think._

"You almost were." The woman huffed. "I'm Gran Goody, our folk's midwife. Your name?" The elf maid was spared an answer when two even smaller little people came barging in the door, though they did try to be as quiet as possible. Though shushing each other really didn't work. "What are you two rapscallions doing, I told you to stay out of here!"

"We wanted to see the elf!" the taller of the two spoke up, while the smaller one peeked around him. The elf maid rolled her eyes, but shifted so she could sit up a bit. She might be able to stand, though she'd have to duck her head. "Hi! I'm Deagol! This is my cousin and best friend Smeagol!"

"Hello." Her shoulder twinged, but she could use it.

"What's your name?" Smeagol piped up from behind his friend.

"I don't have one. People just call me what they like."

"How can you not have a name?" Gran Goody frowned.

"I just don't. My parents never gave me one, and everyone else I've met has been willing to call me something different that describes me."

"Aren't names supposed to describe yourself?" She blinked at Deagol's question, before giving a soft smile. That sounded remarkably like Stonebark.

"For some. But I travel alone, so I have not had a need to describe myself."

"I'll think of a name!" Smeagol announced, then paused, trying to think.

"You're going to be here until he turns old and gray, then, Miss." Deagol gave her a rueful smile. "I'm the more cleverer one." Gran Goody shooed them out, Smeagol promising to come back with a name.

"Really, you have no name?" The shrewd midwife studied her.

"Truly . . . I've been called 'Calwyn', 'Sapling', 'Whisper', 'Bein', 'Ithilriel', 'Lass' and 'Orc Hunter'. Along with several other names that are not half as nice as those."

"I believe you, Missy." Gran Goody sighed. "You heal quicker than most, I suspect that's cause you're elfish. From what I can tell, you should be able to get up and walk around by the morrow. But I want you to stick around for a couple of days, you could still have a relapse." The elf maid dipped her head in compliance. She'd learned that any sort of healer was someone to be listened to, and they were all terribly underhanded with disobedient patients. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes." She was, she hadn't eaten in awhile. As the midwife bustled off, she gave a faint smile as she remembered Byroc demanding to know why she wouldn't eat every day, even going so far as to have the Commander order her to eat. They hadn't quite believed her when she told them that elves didn't need to eat as much as humans. Quickly she buried that memory and focused back on the present.

Smeagol and Deagol must have camped outside the door, as soon as she stepped outside they appeared, Deagol taking charge and offering to show her around. Smeagol was still trying to figure out a name for the elf, but most of the people just called her 'Miss'.

She planned to only spend a few days there with the 'River Folk', but like all her experiences with mortals, got drawn in to spend a little longer. It was like she was a moth drawn to the happiness and friendship that all mortals, even some of the real bad ones, glowed with. It didn't help that she wasn't exactly welcomed by her own race, either. Smeagol finally settled on a name for her, after Deagol convinced him that only objects should be called 'precious'. (Deagol earned her eternal gratitude.)

'Enigma' was one of the better names she'd had. She spent her time teaching her two friends how to climb trees and immensely enjoyed the riddle games that they played, Smeagol was especially good at them, though her time spent wandering gave her a lot more knowledge at figuring them out.

This time though, when she said she had to leave, she was given a pack and a cloak, and the riverfolk sent her off with waves. She smiled and set off, deciding that she would resume orc hunting soon enough.

She glanced back, knowing the little people couldn't see her, their sight was not as good as hers, and smiled as she saw Deagol and Smeagol still sitting in their spot, Gran Goody scolding them and trying to get them to budge. Deagol had wanted to go with her, but while she didn't doubt the little one's friendship, she was too used to traveling alone and honestly, she was used to the exile. He still had family, anyway, and she knew he would miss them. (A small part of her whispered that she just didn't want to see her young friend age and die while she could only watch.)

Family. She hadn't seen Stonebark in almost a thousand years. Silently, her legs took her towards her old home.

"You've grown, Sapling." Stonebark's deep voice had gotten deeper. "You've been kicked around a bit, but you've still managed to grow tall. Tell me, do you know the meaning of your mark?"

"Not in words, I'm afraid- just that elves and any that are dubbed 'elf-friend' are free to try and kill me. I cannot get near any of them without having to run." She glanced down. "I've made many mortal friends, almost all have passed from this middle earth . . . why must mortals die?"

"Harrum, It was decided long ago, little one. I do not know. Perhaps it is because they cannot deal with regret and pain as well as elves."

"It's so unfair, why must I suffer alone?" A sudden terror gripped her heart. "How long do ents live? You're mortal as well, are you not?" Stonebark scooped her up.

"Would that make me any less dear to you?"

"No! But . . . I could not bear it to watch you die . . . and know I can't save you."

"My dear sapling, mortal life is nothing to be sorrowful of. Yes, time is short, but I'm sure you've seen how mortals live that life. Some squander it, yes, but others live it to the fullest. Their lives are filled with Joy and love, even though they experience sorrow and pain, their lives are all the more beautiful and precious for it." Gray-green eyes stared at him, listening. "You are a warrior, Sapling, a hunter and protector. You fight very well physically, and I have heard of all your exploits as you've traveled dark and light paths to find yourself." She winced, knowing he probably disapproved of those dark paths. "Death is not something to be feared, little one, it is merely the beginning of another, greater, journey. The elves can sail to the undying lands, the lands of the Valar, but humans must take a different route."

"You mean mortals go to the undying lands as well?"

"Aye. Dwarves go to the halls of Aule, one of the Valar, do they not? And would not his halls be in the undying lands? Would not the halls reserved for men also be in the lands of the Valar?" Stonebark chuckled. "Do not fear death, my Sapling, yes it is painful, to be unable to protect those you love from time's ruthless passage, but that makes the moments all the more precious to spend with those you call mortals." She bowed her head, thinking over his words. "Mortals only wish to spend their lives with those they love, as friends, kin or lovers, a mortal well loved and valued will have a peaceful passing, even if they are suffering. That is all they require, and they understand as well as you that their time is short."

"I don't think I can bear it, to see hair turn gray and strong hands become weak not again. I fear it would break me, more than a death of a mortal soldier that died of an arrow wound."

"One day, I hope you will find a friend or two that you would not be able to leave, even as they age, and you will love them enough to stand by their death bed and help give them a peaceful passing." She personally thought it was a curse that he spoke of. "But in any case, unless I am burned or attacked with axes, I will be around for another few thousand years or so. Hopefully by then you'll be able to convince your elven race that you are not deserving of death." She held her tongue, and did not reply with what she had been feeling. She wanted the death that came with battle, if only so she could see her mortal friends once more.

She would not actively seek out death- though some would claim that hunting orcs counted as such- but if it came to her, she would be more than willing to slip from this world. Stonebark would not approve, and there was something that kept her from trying to die. A feeling that she still had a purpose in Middle Earth, though she had not, as yet, found it. A deed that she must do before she could even think of dying from wounds or simply from existing when there was no one to share her existence and travels with.

The elf maid stayed with the ent for a time, before resuming her travels and solo hunting of orcs.

AN: The next chapter will be called 'Daybreak'. This OC of mine has proven quite insistent that she still has a purpose to fulfill, and I fear that she has already insisted on making changes to parts of the story, and will not be dissuaded. Not that I mind, though. This story will only contain two chapters, but if I do wind up writing a sequel, my nameless character might finally gain a name that she likes.

Notes on words, names and characters:

Calwyn- I took the '-wyn' from 'Eowyn' and then I randomly chose the first part of the name. Since a lot of words (and I've noticed this while reading) for the common language of middle earth seem to have elvish roots, I figured '-wyn' was a shoot of from the elvish 'wen'.

Stonebark- A oak like ent that came into the story with the exclusive purpose of raising the OC after the loss of her foster parents. I needed someone who was long lived and I figured that an ent would be the best choice, given their long lifespan.

Whisper- originally her name was going to be Shadow for this section, but, well, I find 'Shadow' an overused name for assassins.

Bein- pronounced like 'Bane' and means 'Beautiful'. (If I ever write more on this character, not counting the second chapter, I can assure you there will be a joke on the similar pronunciation of 'Bein' and 'Bane'- as in bane of my existence.)

Byroc- he wasn't supposed to be named. None of the guards of Minas Ithil were going to be named. But I wanted him to have a bit more depth, since he was an almost-but-not-quite lover for the OC.

Ithilriel- 'Ithil' is 'moon' and 'riel' is the same as 'Galad_riel_', so it roughly translates as 'Maiden of the moon'.

Captain/Commander- I never named him, nor do I ever intend to. I never intended to name any of the guards, as stated before.

Reagar and Tolan- again, not supposed to be named, but I needed them, so . . .

Gran Goody- I needed a name for Smeagol's grandmother/village midwife. (Read the riddle contest between Bilbo and Gollum, Gollum faintly remembers his grandmother during the game). 'Goody' is the old English word for a nurse or midwife, if you want a better example, you should read _The Crucible_.

Enigma- Another word for Riddle or Mystery, again, I got the fealing that growing up Gollum was one of those kids that enjoyed figuring out riddles and having ones to solve, so when he met a person that didn't have a name, he was going to label them a mystery.

Deagol- well, his personality (as well as smeagol's) is based from the few minutes we saw of him in the third lord of the rings movie. Deagol acted opposite of Smeagol who acted very childish, and I honestly got the feeling that the two were inseprable as children.

Which, in my opinion, makes Smeagol's corruption by the ring a whole lot worse; it changed him from curious and innocent person to someone who killed his best friend.

Disclaimer: Really, do I look like I wrote Lord of the Rings, let alone own the rights, if I am posting a story like this on FanFictiondotnet? I do own copies of the books, though.

Please leave a review! (Or you could just put this on Story alert or favorite, just as long as I know people like the story!)


	2. Daybreak

AN: See the bottom of the Chapter for Author's note.

**Daybreak**

"_Miss, look! Floating lights!" Enigma glanced up from where she was showing Smeagol how to build a fire. Deagol was pointing to a small grove of trees, where there were indeed lights floating about. "What are they?" Each was a slightly different color, and differed in size. She moved to stand on the Riverfolk child's right side, Smeagol following. "Miss?"_

"_They're faeries." She had seen them once before, Stonebark had shown her them._

"_Faeries?"_

"_What are they doing?" The two young ones were wide-eyed._

"_Dancing, Faeries love to dance. They're also very curious, and only glow at night- during the day they are invisible and use it to watch others. If they like someone, they'll give them a gift."_

"_What type of gift?"_

"_Dunno. Some give wit and cunning to those who don't have it, others will give locations of buried treasure, or a fulfill a wish. But they never give a gift to those who ask for one, and they don't like anyone to interrupt their dancing and merrymaking- they've been known to curse those that do so." She sat down, both of the riverfolk children copying her. "However, they don't mind us watching, as long as we leave them alone."She smiled as they nodded, eyes wide with wonder at the dancing lights._

"_Gran Goody says they can change their looks." Deagol whispered, Smeagol was playing with the grass absently, his eyes on the faeries and his ears listening to the elf maiden._

"_Some do." Enigma nodded. After a while, Smeagol nodded off and reluctantly, the elf maiden and Deagol gathered their stuff to return back to Gran Goody's home._

The Elf maid with half a dozen names groaned as she woke up from the dream, and entered painful reality. She'd headed North, and had found the mines of Moria in a less than easy way- by falling into a ventilation shaft that had been obscured by a spiky looking bush. It had taken her over a month to find her way out again, using another shaft that was probably meant for light instead of air.

Flicking dark hair out of gray-green eyes, she studied the landscape. She'd keep heading north- she'd heard interesting tales of strange things that lived there- and if she was lucky she'd be able to buy a shirt and some spare fabric.

Then again, luck was something that loved to flirt and then run out on her at the most inopportune times. For less than two weeks after that thought, she was dragging herself out of a river, coughing and choking on water as blood flowed freely from cuts on her arms and sides. Apparently, her existence was enough for orcs to attack, despite her being out of their way by several miles and not hunting them.

She rested her head on the bank, ignoring the fact her lower body was still in the water. She was tired, not just from this skirmish, but in every way. She had no real home to return to, those she had befriended were mortals- it had been 200 years since her time with Smeagol and Deagol, so they were dead by now- and her own race would kill her for a mark she had no inkling of the meaning. She couldn't return to Stonebark, she had promised the Oak-like ent that she wouldn't return until she knew why she had the mark.

"_Ithilriel, you really have a knack for getting in over your head, you know that right?"_ Byroc's teasing voice whispered in her ear. She bit her lip, because it had been a long time since her thoughts had turned towards the Captain she had been close to.

"_Calwyn, the deer won't come to you, you have to track and follow the trail and get as close as you can before firing your arrow, alright?"_ Her foster father's voice almost made her cry. Why were they telling her this now? Why were they here now? Some distant part of her realized that she was hallucinating, either from hunger or poison or some mix of both.

"_Come here, Calwyn, let me fix you up. You shouldn't be training as hard as the others, you're just a child."_ She could feel her foster mother brushing her fringe away from her eyes.

"If I don't I'll die, Mamek . . ." The world blurred, a dull roar of noise drowning out everything but the voices of her hallucinations. "I don't want to die alone." Thought was no longer coherent, though she could hold an idea, apparently.

"_You won't be alone, Bein. You'll never be alone."_ Byroc was holding her. _"C'mon you stubborn elf, I know you'll keep fighting, with all that trouble you got me into-"_

"Wasn't me, it was you. And don't call me that." She mumbled. "I just want to rest . . ."

"_Calwyn, giving up means you'll never get anywhere. Learning from mistakes means you'll never forget the lessons."_ She could hear the exasperation in her Foster father's voice, but it was mixed with love and amusement- he had never gotten angry when she didn't learn right away. _"Am I really just a foster father to you?"_ He tugged on her arm to keep her attention.

"No, you're my Papeg."

"_Then why don't you use the name we gave you, Calwyn? We named you as our daughter, that love gave you a chance to live, and that name would remind you of what we taught you. It doesn't just mean 'lost maiden', though that's one way 'Cal' can be used, it also means traveling."_

"Dunno." That made more sense then what Stonebark had said. "Forgot it, I guess."

"_Leave her alone, she needs to sleep, poor dear."_ Her foster- no, just her mother, because the one that gave birth hadn't wanted her- kissed her forehead. Byroc and her father did the same. Then everything went black.

* * *

When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see a grey-white ceiling. She frowned, not sure why the sky and trees had become a room. It took a moment before she realized that once again, someone had found her and taken her in. And bandaged her up, she noticed, feeling the familiar weight of bandages. It was a simple room, a wash basin and mirror in one corner, and a chair by her bed. There was a balcony as well, and the doors were open, letting in a breeze. She tried to sit up and get a better view of the outside, but froze when the door open and a beautiful woman with long blonde hair stepped in with a small bowl.

"You're awake, I was beginning to think you were going to go to Manwe's halls." As the woman gracefully crossed to the chair, Calwyn saw her ears.

"You're an elf." The words slipped out, and Calwyn shrank back a bit, embarrassed at her own open astonishment. But this was the first time she had been close to one of her race that wasn't male and didn't have a weapon.

"Yes, as are you." The lady smiled. "What's your name, elleth?"

" . . . Calwyn. Calwyn Ithilriel." She liked both those names, they had both been given to her with love. "Though I have others."

"Do you think you could manage some soup?"

" . . . First, could you tell me who you are and where I am?" Another thought occurred, and she almost jumped out of her skin. "Are there more elves nearby?"

"Calm, no one here will hurt you. You've been here for just over a month, according to the reckoning of men. You are in Rivendell, also called the Last Homely House by men, governed by Lord Elrond. I am Celebrian, wife to Elrond, and you are under my protection." Calwyn relaxed, albeit slowly. "This valley is home to many elves and elf-friends, and none of them will hurt you."

"Promise?" It came out a bit weak, but Calwyn did not want to be taken advantage of. Some of that wariness must have showed, because the Lady Celebrian's expression softened even more.

"Yes, I promise." Calwyn wasn't sure what to make of the fact that it was a noble lady elf that fed her (her arms were much too weak, and she couldn't hold a bowl, let alone a spoon), so she stayed silent, even as a thousand questions sought to express themselves. When she was finally full, Celebrian put the bowl aside. "Now, can you answer a few questions for me, Mistress Calwyn?"

"I'll do my best."

What followed was more of Calwyn finally getting the answers she had long searched for than her answering Celebrian's questions. The mark was a inking of a black ink to an elf's skin, reserved for elves that were found guilty of not only treason but also slaying of kin, and allying with the forces of darkness. The female elf that gave birth to her had probably been a healer who had learned how to do the inking, but not how to make the ink the black shade it was supposed to be. In fact, it had faded to a dull grey over time, which had made it less noticeable to Elves.

When the Lady Celebrian had asked if she wanted the mark removed, Calwyn was surprised that she had to think about it. For many decades and centuries, it had been a way of identifying her, for good or ill, but it had been something that she had always had and had grown to define a part of her. It was rather silly that she even contemplated keeping the mark, and in the end she had said yes, but it was a strange moment of wondering if she was getting rid of a link to her birth parents, before remembering she still had two of the knives still- one was buried with Byroc, the other had broken.

When the mark was removed, the Lady Celebrian put Calwyn under the charge of Arwen and herself, in order to teach the wandering elf maiden how to be an elf. There were many things that Calwyn did not know, because she thought of herself in the ways of men.

The first thing Calwyn had to relearn was sleeping habits; elves sleep with their eyes open, and only sleep with their eyes closed when injured or exhausted. They also sleep every day like humans. What Calwyn had been doing was closing her eyes to sleep as well as staying up for days before collapsing from exhaustion.

Second, Calwyn had to relearn clothes; Elves didn't need winter gear (though fur-lined cloaks were occasionally worn for style), and their clothes and armor were much lighter than those of men. When Calwyn changed the man-made heavy leather boots for the lightweight leather boots made by elves, it became impossible to hear her movements. She had learned how to move silently in the slightly clunky boots, the lightweight ones simply made it easier. In fact, she moved quicker, once she got out of the heavy man-made clothes.

Thirdly, Calwyn had to learn how to read and then study history; Stonebark had only known how to speak many different languages, he did not know how to read, and while Calwyn had learned to read various languages of men, and even decipher a few dwarf-runes, she had never been able to learn how to read Elvish. She enjoyed learning history, however, and once she was able to read she was quick to start reading on her own.

Finally, Calwyn had to learn to deal with time; Growing up and living among mortals had given her their sense of time, which made it all the more difficult for her because she was painfully aware of how quickly mortals aged. This lesson was made even more difficult because the Lady Celebrian was ambushed and captured by Orcs on her way to visit her mother.

Calwyn, like she had so many years before when Byroc had been captured, had helped rescue the lady. As time went on and Celebrian didn't recover, Calwyn grew confused. Something that persisted even after the Lady Celebrian had gone 'into the west' and to the lands of the Valar. However, with Celebrian gone, and Arwen in Lothlorien grieving the loss of her mother, Calwyn was hesitant to ask anyone else.

* * *

"Ouch." Calwyn winced as she pricked her finger with a needle, again. She'd long since taken up the job as resident 'jack-of-all-trades', and helping out wherever it was needed. If no one needed her, which happened often, she would retreat to the library. Today, one of the elf maids suggested she take up sewing instead of reading all the time.

(She was having doubts that the elf maid had suggested it out of sympathy of being bored.)

"Something wrong?" Calwyn jumped, having been distracted by her attempts to _not_ stab herself, hadn't noticed their approach.

"Lord Elrond, Lords Elladan and Elrohir." She blinked, still unsure which was which of the last two.

"Calwyn, are you alright?" Elrohir (or Elladan?) looked at her, and her sewing project.

"What are you doing?" Elladan (or Elrohir?) studied the scraps of fabric.

"Making a quilt, eventually. And I'm fine, I'm just no good with sewing needles." She sighed and fixed the stitch.

"What's a quilt?"

"A thicker type of blanket- I'm making a patchwork quilt, so it's bits of discarded cloth sewn together to make it. Gran Goody had one for when she sat by the fire." Calwyn made the next three stitches without incident. "She taught me how to sew, since all I knew before was weaving."

"You've learned quite a lot, haven't you?" Elrond sat in the chair next to her, studying the slightly ragged quilt.

"After constantly fighting to stay alive, you get curious about what everyone does who doesn't have to."

"What other trades have you learned, then?"

" . . . Just good or the bad as well?" Calwyn watched the twins share a couch, one pushing the other over so he could be more comfortable.

"Both." Elrond decided after a moment.

"Well, in order I guess it would be: hunting, weaving, horsemanship and archery, cooking bread and meat, climbing, foraging, trapping, pick-pocketing, picking locks, stealing, assassination, burgularing, knot tying, escaping cells, ropes and chains, how to be a soldier, fencing and swordplay, some sailing, singing though I don't like it, sewing, riddles, fishing, mapmaking, forging knives and swords, axe throwing (long story), knife throwing, making soup (don't ask why it took me so long to learn that), and some healing, but that's been a continuous thing, and I'm still studying." The three looked at her in some surprise. "What?"

"Those are all the trades you've learned? They're all very practical." Elrond stated, studying her.

"Well, except for the assassination bit." One of the twins noted.

"They're all mostly things a traveling warrior would know, anyway." Elrond ignored his son, studying Calwyn. "Some of those you were rather sad to say."

"Because I learned them from mortals who lived long ago." Calwyn had never spent much time with any of the three, mostly hiding behind Arwen and Celebrian. It was a little unnerving to be suddenly sitting with them. "It's painful, remembering their deaths, or that I can't go and see them again because it's been too long." She absently rolled the needle between her fingers, thinking. "Lady Celebrian told me that I think about time too much, for an elf, but I can't really help it, especially now that she's gone."

"But we'll see her again, when the time comes for us to sail for Valinor." Elrohir spoke quickly. "It's not like she's died . . ."

"Perhaps not, but she's still not here." Calwyn almost stabbed herself with the needle again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Elrond stopped her from playing with the needle. "You know I am called half-elven, correct?" She nodded. "Me and my twin, Elros were the first half-elves ever born. We were given the choice by the Valar to live either as men or as elves- I chose to live as an elf, giving me the lifespan of an immortal. But my twin, he chose to live as a mortal. By the grace of the Valar he had an exceptionally long life, much longer than any mortal will ever have, but he died, just the same." The twins kept silent. "So I understand, Calwyn, because even though my brother chose mortality, I never thought of time and the possibility of his death, because we were twins and had grown up doing everything together. His aging was a shock, more so than his dying, because time affected him more than me, and instead of staying the same as each other, he changed and eventually left for Manwe's halls." Calwyn knew that shock of realizing that time had passed for everyone else but her very well. It stung and left one crying for just one more sunrise, one more moment, one more heartbeat, that would never happen. "Being left behind is painful, especially when they go someplace you cannot follow."

"Stonebark, the ent that taught me, he wasn't so sure about that."

"What do you mean?"

"The Valar live in Valinor, right?" Elrond nodded. "So, wouldn't the halls of Manwe and Aule be in the Undying lands too? That's where men and dwarves are supposed to go, right? So wouldn't we be able to see mortals there, when we arrive?" Elrond drew back, studying her.

"I have never thought of that, for I only have believed what I was told. You might be correct, _elleth_, on that." Calwyn knew that it was a painful spark of hope to hold onto, because so many said that they were separate places. She glanced away. "You're not content to just stay in one place, being idle." The topic change was sudden and slightly jarring, but it did them no good to dwell on possibilities and the past.

"No, I'm not." She accepted the change. "I'm not much good at idling."

"Then there is something I need you to do."

Two weeks later, she was riding south. The words Elrond had said as she left burning gently in her heart.

_You always have a home in Imaldris, Calwyn Ithilriel, you can return, whenever you need a light to guide you._

**End**

* * *

**Grr . . . this second chapter gave me some trouble. I ended up deleting a good portion of dialogue just because it got to be too dragged out. **

**So, depending on how everything goes with my other stories (and with School starting up again) I may post the sequel to this. (It'll be titled 'Shedding Light'). I'm still not sure how far I'll go with this OC, but I don't plan on her being in the lord of the rings and adding her to the plot, I'm thinking she'll mostly be support for other characters, like running messages for Elrond and the other elf lords, maybe even helping in Mirkwood.**


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